For the fourth year in a row, climber and guide Dave Hahn has reported in to GreatOutdoors.com daily via satellite telephone as he climbed to the summit of Everest. Last month, he reached the summit for the 10th time, the first non-Sherpa climber to achieve that milestone. Relive the excitement of the 10-week Everest 2008 season.

In a flash I went from being a famous Everest climber to
just another guy with a strange tan slobbering on himself in an airplane
seat on the long trans Pacific flight. I flew home to New
Mexico from Kathmandu this last week while Nicky and Greg Messner
did the smart thing and took off to the beaches of Thailand.

The IMG 2008 Mount Everest
climb is over and done with. We had a
few nice dinners together in Kathmandu. I know that I bragged in the last dispatch
that we'd go out to the Rum Doodle and sign the famous summit-climber boards, but
that didn't really happen. They require
a heck of a lot of proof these days for such autographing... you have to have
signed affidavits, corroborating satellite pictures, blood and urine samples
etc... so we just ate dinner and looked up at everybody else's signatures in awe
and envy.

I'm happy to be home and am getting ready for my next
mountains. It should be a fine summer on
Denali and Mount Rainier. But I'm still thinking of Mount
Everest. There was a small
and measured flurry of media interest over my tenth trip to the top. The standard news blurb being that I'd set a
record for non-Sherpa climbers and that I was the first (and at the moment,
only) Westerner to hit double digits.
I'm a sucker for seeing my name in print and to be sure, I'm proud of my
own achievements on Everest. But I
perceive them to be slightly different achievements than those I'm credited
with.

Apa Sherpa Holds the Record

I'm not a strong believer that there should be a record for
Sherpas and a second record for non-Sherpas.
Apa Sherpa holds the real record, plain and simple, and in fact he upped
it to 18 ascents just a few days before I got my tenth. I'm flattered as heck that people in Nepal
now introduce me to each other as "the American Apa" but I have no pretensions
of equaling the real Apa's achievements.
And to compare me too seriously to Apa does a disservice to those great
climbers that have more summits than ten and less than 18.

Until quite recently, I never dreamed that I'd reach ten
summits myself and still further did not dream that I'd reach it ahead of other
non-Sherpas. It isn't a "lead" that I expect
to hold for long. Younger guys like Willie
Benegas, Kenton Cool and Dave Morton will come screaming past my numbers in a
few years if they haven't already been passed by old hands like Vern Tejas and
Gheorghe Dijmarescu and Peter Athans in the meantime.

Like I say though... I do like getting publicly recognized for
something... even if it requires explaining away and disclaiming afterward. But my simply notching up a 10th
ascent wasn't really the trick and shouldn't surprise too many of my friends. At this point, with good health, I really
ought to be able to drag my own carcass to the summit of Mt. Everest
any number of times. After all, I've
been up top in snowstorms and in darkness and while ill and injured and alone
and from both Tibet and Nepal. I do know the way and I know how to sit back
and let others do the hard work and trail-breaking and route-fixing. So planting my own two large feet at 29,000
ft again was really no big deal... honest. What I want credit for is successfully
and safely guiding the summit of Mount Everest
on May 27th, which I think is an entirely different animal and
worthy of great praise and admiration . . .or at least a free drink or two.

The Summit Climb

At 11 PM on May 25th I set off for the top with
Nicky Messner, Samduk Dorjee and Phinjo Dorjee.
But the wind was blowing at the South Col and just as we began, a cloud
blew in across the Col,
blotting out the stars and spitting snow and reducing visibility... along with
making me nervous. I led the way out of
camp, by memory and Braille since my headlight wasn't cutting through the
freezing fog very effectively. I turned
around every few minutes to check on Nicky, to make sure her oxygen was flowing
and to see that Samduk and Phinjo were close in behind her. In our huge down suits and boots and crampons
with packs and climbing hardware clanking and with faces covered by rubber
masks with hoses coming and going, none of us was particularly nimble or comfortable. The freezing fog and wind and noise contributed
to the claustrophobia.

We plodded for an hour up the moderate slopes that led to
the steep "triangular face" where from time to time I was granted glimpses of
the headlights of climbers who'd left the Col earlier in the evening. Mostly they were shrouded in the murk and
blowing snow and I was left to guess at their progress and our nearness to the
wall. I'd stopped once or twice to tell
Nicky and the Sherpas that we would turn around soon if the conditions didn't
improve. Rime ice was forming on our
suits as the wind pushed the damp cloud continually over us.

In my mind I reviewed
our situation over and over. I believed
this to be our only shot at the top. I
guessed that we didn't have resources to sit all day sucking oxygen at high
camp waiting for another try. I guessed
that the attempt we were making would take vital strength from Nicky and that
we didn't have a lot to waste. I assumed
that from the forecasts I'd heard, the weather would be getting steadily worse
as the jet stream approached Everest.

I imagined that our
expedition would be under great pressure to get clear of the mountain since we
were the very last summit bid and 28 of the team had already topped out. So I didn't think we'd make it if we turned
around... but I began to feel strongly that we had to turn around. I've made the summit in squalls and storms...
but I haven't often started for the summit in a storm, much less guided in one.

Rock Fall

Just as I chewed things over with my dark thoughts, there
was a small explosion to my immediate left.
Turning my head I looked down and back and Nicky said "My ice axe is
gone." And sure enough it was. She'd said it as such a flat statement of
fact that I was perplexed and stared at her face and then at her left hand
which had held the axe. At once we
realized that something had fallen out of the night and off of the Triangular
Face and hit her ice axe, ripping it from her hand. I shone my light back down the 25 degree
slope we'd been climbing. There was no
axe.

Samduk immediately
ran down, out of the range of the light, looking for the axe. Curiously, Nicky said "He won't find it... it's
gone." But I was sure he would and after
a few moments he came back into the light with the axe, but he must have gone
at least a hundred feet before having found where it came to rest. He handed it to Nicky and we each looked at
the violent dent of mashed metal at about mid-shaft of the axe. In fact, the whole shaft of the axe was now
bent and angled at the impact point and we each calculated what that unseen
rock would have done to a knee joint or a shin on a flight path a few feet to
one side of the axe. I turned back to
the hill and took about three more steps in the blowing wind and freezing
cloud. "I'm sorry, but we are turning
around. We can't do it." And we headed back toward high camp, each
alone with his or her thoughts, but each believing that our Everest climb was
finished.

It was a horrible night.
I got out of the tent a few more times to check the weather and we
talked with Mark Tucker via radio about weather forecasts, but within the tent,
we were now cold and discouraged. Our
suits had ice coating them and so we were wet within the sleeping bags we
draped over ourselves.

The most
encouraging forecast we could get specified that the next day, the 27th,
would be too difficult to accurately predict.
On the good side, Mark Tucker and Ang Jangbu down at basecamp encouraged
us to give it another day. They said
that the Sherpas could wait in pulling down high camp and that we had oxygen
enough at our disposal to sit out a day.

Discouraged and Dejected

So despite our dejection and our fear that the jetstream was
coming close to the mountain, we determined to sit and wait and try again. At daybreak, I peeked out at the now-visible
Triangular Face and watched the wind ripping over the Balcony and South Summit. I was doubly discouraged because I knew
that even on this lousy day, people would be tagging the summit... I couldn't
guide the mountain on such a day, but it might turn out to have been our only
chance. But with daybreak I was also
warmed by the sun on the tent. We passed
the day drying out in our tent, drinking water, eating food and sucking oxygen. The wind rattled the tent all day long, but
even so, our spirits picked up and we began to believe that we had one more
good shot at the summit.

This time we walked at 10:45 PM, having gotten slightly
better at the routine of leaving camp.
The wind was blowing, but not hard, and the stars were out. We passed our high point of the night before and pushed on
up the steep Face. A cloud once again
came over us and I began to worry. We
encountered two parties of two on the face who'd decided to turn due to the
poor weather. In speaking to them, I
revealed that we might end up doing the same thing if the weather didn't
improve.... But for the moment we were pushing on. I had a feeling that we'd climb out of the
cloud this time, and the winds seemed to be dying down ever so slightly.

We were still in pitch darkness and bitter cold by the time
we reached the Balcony at 27,500 ft. but I was gaining a sense that the weather
was going to cooperate. As usual, it was
a finger-freezing chore to get our oxygen tanks switched over and repacked at
the balcony. Phinjo's and Samduk's loads
were halved at this point and I considered that I could now count on an
abundance of strength from both of them in the event of any emergency. While I messed with the oxygen regulators I
badgered Nicky with questions about her condition and grilled her on how many
calories she'd taken in while warning her that the next "break" wouldn't come
until the South Summit. But finally, after days of pessimistically
preparing her for the worst, I was at least now enthusiastically predicting that
we would make it to the South Summit. "Enthusiastically" being a relative term
while shaking blood back into cold hands and wrestling with oxygen
equipment.

When we set out climbing again, I could begin to make out
the upper mountain in the night and I was wildly excited to only see two
headlights ahead of us. I'd begun to
perceive that Nicky was climbing wonderfully on this morning and that a day at
the South Col had only helped her strength and
reserves and confidence. Winds were
dying down to nothing, clouds were gone, the "trail" and fixed ropes were in
fine condition and I couldn't believe that we were going to be permitted to
tackle the steep slopes of the South Summit without the hazard and encumbrance
of crowds.

But, we weren't actually permitted that. We caught the only two climbers on the route
at nearly a dead stop on the steepest pitches, but managed to pass them without
expending too much extra energy. And by
then, we were being treated to an out-of-this-world sunrise with its attendant
pyramid shadow of Everest cast surreally out into the western sky. The Kangshung Face and Lhotse were turning
brilliant shades of pink while Makalu and
Kangchenjunga were glowing on the eastern horizon. We looked over the edge of the Southeast
Ridge into the Khumbu
Valley and were
captivated by "little" Ama Dablam far below, with its elegant summit magically
lit by the sun while everything else in the valley remained in deep and dark
shadow. We pointed to Pangboche in those
shadows, across from Ama Dablam... home to both Phinjo and Samduk.

On to the Top of the World

Nicky was climbing well, not weighting the ropes any more
than was absolutely necessary and transferring from crampon frontpoints in ice to
delicate rock steps without any apparent difficulty. Her previous summit days on Cho Oyu and Denali and other cold mountains were paying dividends
now. It was still quite cold as we
reached the South Summit and took another busy
"rest" in the sun, cramming in food and water and fresh batteries for my
radio. We were treated to the
billion-dollar view of the Hillary Step across the crazy ridge separating the
Southwest Face from the Kangshung Face... and above that was the summit and there
was no plume of either cloud or snow streaming from it. We were in perhaps five-miles-an-hour of
breeze and that didn't appear to be changing.
We worked our way across the tricky steps to the base of the Hillary
Step and I cautioned Nicky to not be intimidated by appearances. It can appear from below to be ridiculously
difficult to get up the step, but it is not, in actuality (with rope and a few
helpful steps kicked in the snow by others)
Even so, as I swung up to the awkward but well protected traverse we now
do in the middle of the step, I thought again of how bold Sir Edmund and
Tenzing had been to tackle this step without fixed rope or even useful
protection in 1953. Just a rope between
them and the amazing self-confidence to believe that they could find a way
-both up and down- in an unknown and uncertain world.

The four of us were past the step in short order and working
up the final easy track to the top. I
had plenty of time to look around in amazement at how little snow was on these
upper slopes in this exceptionally dry season.
And then we were walking onto the summit together and enjoying the views
and the satisfactions of a goal close to completion. We were able to speak with our friends -and
Nicky's husband Greg- at basecamp via radio and to brag of our perfect
conditions. And we were able to take our
summit pictures... well, Nicky was able to take those pictures. I'd actually forgotten my camera at high
camp. A first for me, but one that I was
smiling at as it seemed to allow me great freedom for once on top of the world.

Our climb down was easy, unhurried, uneventful and safe, as
such climbs should be. In fact, we were
comfortably into Advanced Basecamp at 21,300 ft and well out of the "Death
Zone" by late afternoon... quite happy that we'd taken a chance on just one more
try at the top. The next day we were
safe at basecamp.

In the end, we enjoyed all the advantages. The IMG trip had great leadership and
extremely competent Sherpa support. It
lacked for nothing in terms of necessary equipment and provisions. Nicky and I had climbed with each other
before and had the benefit of several years of shared friendship before we
embarked on this enterprise together.
We'd worked up to our summit bid patiently and carefully, staying
healthy and focused for two months time. And we got lucky. Can I take credit for that? Try to stop me.

I can't tell you how amazing this story is. I have never done any real mountain climbing, but I am blown away!!!!!. This is the tallest mountain in the world, and the chances of death are at a all time extreme. I am grateful they made the climb and survived. Since I was a child, I have been memorized by mountain climbing. I solute those who challenge it and win to see another day. Touche Mr. Hahn

I enjoyed your report and had been concerned earlier re problems with unrest in Nepal and the Olympic torch situation.

I see you mention Gheorghe Dijmarescu. Have you also met the creep Gustavo Lisi who left Nils Antezana to die on the Balcony? Both these guys were made infamous in Michael Kodas's new book, "High Crimes." I'll be anxious to talk with you about this when you get back to Taos.

I appreciate your thoughts on the value of having guided Nicky on other mountains and the positive impact it had on your decision making, albeit one of many variables. As someone who uses guides to climb, I echo your thinking--a history of climbing together creates a stronger, more enjoyable brotherhood of the rope.

How about broadcasting or sending dispatches while guiding other remote mountains? After all, you are a modern day John Muir.